Yu-Chen Lin is a doctoral candidate in cello performance at the Michigan State University College of Music. Originally from Taiwan, she earned her master’s degree from National Taiwan Normal University before beginning her U.S. journey at MSU. She has served as a graduate assistant and currently is president of the MSU student chapter of the American String Teachers Association.
Before an early morning rehearsal, I wandered down the quiet hallway of the Billman Music Pavilion, my hands wrapped around a cup of coffee’s gentle warmth. Through the window, the first snow was falling — soft, unhurried, gently layering the ground. Outside, the world was cooling into stillness; inside, the day was just beginning to unfold. In those luminous mornings, I am reminded of how fortunate I am to be surrounded by music, community and beauty every day.
As a music student at MSU for almost four years, I’ve experienced joy, excitement, fulfillment, loss, loneliness, regret and countless mistakes. All of it has shaped me into a different person. Yet no matter what happens, whenever I walk into the College of Music, I feel the same vibrant energy in the air. It’s almost as if the building itself is saying to me, “I will still be here, no matter what. I will still be here, no matter who you are or who you have become.”
Although I have learned so much in my time here, there are a few lessons I’ve learned that I hope will resonate with others. Compassion, cooperation, sharing and working together are, after all, the Spartan way.
The first lesson: nothing is certain
I’ve always been someone who needs plans and structure — everything in my life must have a clear goal and a final vision. But reality doesn’t always follow our plans, and for a long time, that made me anxious and overwhelmed. Over these years at MSU, nearly 90% of things have turned out differently than I imagined — long-held plans, relationships, even the person I thought I was.
It’s natural to feel frustrated when our efforts don’t bring the results we hope for. But uncertainty doesn’t mean failure — it also carries the gift of possibility. Life often pushes us off one track only to open another. Studying abroad wasn’t part of my plan, yet here I am, grateful for this unexpected path. Perhaps the unknown is what makes life expansive and alive.
The second lesson: don’t wait until you succeed to feel complete
At MSU, people often leave me kind comments about my smile and the positivity I bring, but I’ve never seen myself as someone who always thinks positively. Nobody is always happy, and I don’t believe we should pretend to be. Human beings have many layers — happiness, sadness, anger — and all of them are real and valuable. The real question is how we can feel complete even when we haven’t accomplished what we hoped for.
I struggled with anxiety and mental illness in my early 20s. When I opened up about my struggles to other musicians here, I discovered how many had gone through the same thing. We live in a world that praises success but rarely teaches us how to face failure, how to pick ourselves up when broken, how to care for ourselves when nothing feels okay — yet we still need to eat, sleep and keep going. Healing doesn’t always mean returning to how things were. Sometimes it means finding resilience, moving forward and carrying love for ourselves through it all.
Feeling complete and finding genuine joy in life don’t have to wait for success — or for anyone else to make us feel whole. It’s a practice we cultivate within ourselves by listening to our inner voice, discovering our passions and taking responsibility for our own lives. It’s about trusting ourselves enough to fall, to break, to rest when we need to, and to have the courage to gather our pieces, stand up again and keep moving forward — strong and steady, like a Spartan.
The third lesson: there will be a place for you
It’s normal at first to feel out of place in a new environment, but I found a community at MSU filled with open, engaged and passionate people. Your people come to you — through shared passions, shared work and spaces of support. These are the people who teach us to respect ourselves and others, to be honest even when it’s hard and to say goodbye to things that are toxic and no longer serve us. Most importantly, it’s a place where you can be yourself, surrounded by people who love you not despite your quirks, but because of them. It’s like saying, “You are so weird, and I love you exactly for that.”
Finally: life is about the present moment
Music has taught me this in the clearest way. On stage, we often feel the temptation to dwell on a missed note or fear the difficult passage coming up — and when we do, we stop enjoying the music or we fall apart. Staying present is easy to say but hard to do, and I still struggle with it. Yet in both music and life, presence is everything. When we meet people, can we put everything aside and truly listen? When we see sunlight, can we pause, breathe deeply and feel grateful simply to be alive?
There’s a metaphor from my favorite book, “I May Be Wrong”: make a fist, then gently open your hand. It’s a reminder to let go of the things that hold us back. If we carry that motion through life — releasing fear, regret and distraction, and fully embracing the present — perhaps our days would feel lighter, our hearts fuller and our world a little more alive.
Perhaps most importantly for all of us at MSU and beyond is this: always believe in love. Musicians are hopelessly sensitive and romantic, but that is what makes us so beautifully human. May we embrace this fragile beauty fully, without shame, without regret and always in the light of love.
This article is dedicated to the memory of our beloved friend, Meagan Turner.
